


You mean it's not about gardening?

by gloria_scott



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, F/F, Impact Play, Tea, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:43:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloria_scott/pseuds/gloria_scott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt used: Molly/Sarah/Sally/Mrs. Hudson - summer book club</p>
            </blockquote>





	You mean it's not about gardening?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Summer of Sherlock](http://sherlockmas.livejournal.com/) fest over at the sherlockmas comm on LJ.
> 
> Thanks very much to catchoo152 for the beta!

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time.

“Oh, come on!” Sally had said. “It’ll be fun – just us girls getting together for a nice chat over tea.” She’d handed Molly a scrap of paper with the title of a book on it, along with “next Sunday, 4pm @ 221a Baker St.”

Molly appreciated the gesture, even though she strongly suspected it was a pity invite. She’d first met Sally during the whole “Jim from IT” fiasco. Well, more like she’d been interrogated by her, actually, and she did find the Detective Sergeant more than a little intimidating. She also really admired her – she just seemed so together and so effortlessly assertive – so Molly hated to decline. Besides, she had always been an avid reader; it would be really nice to talk literature with a group of like-minded women on the weekend instead of talking with her cat. Toby didn’t seem to care much for Ibsen, but then, Scandinavian dramatists weren’t everybody’s cup of tea. His ears did occasionally prick up for Austen, though.

Molly wasn’t familiar with this particular title, and hadn’t had much luck finding it on her own. When she’d showed the scrap of paper with the title scrawled on it to the sales associate at Waterstone’s, he’d sort of given her a funny little look (although that could have just been her imagination). But as they’d headed out of the _Literary Fiction_ section, past the _Gardening_ section, and over to the _Health and Well-Being_ section, she’d started to have her doubts. And when they’d ended up at the shelves labeled _Sex and Sexuality_ , she was sure there had been some mistake.

The associate scanned the rows of book spines for a couple of seconds before his hand darted out and grabbed an oversized paperback from the stacks.

“Here you go, Miss,” he said, handing it to her. “Anything else I can help you with?”

Again, it could have been her imagination, but the intent – even somewhat leering – look he gave her unsettled her a bit.

“N…no,” she stuttered. “That’s all, thanks.” She waited for him to walk away before looking at the cover of the book in her hands. When she did, she almost dropped it.

“Oh my,” Molly squeaked, garnering curious glances from one or two other patrons nearby. She looked around furtively, then hugged the book to her chest and tried to find a quiet corner out of the way where she could get herself sorted.

She found a corner near the _Reference_ section – hardly anyone ever went there – and looked at the cover again. There was a woman, blindfolded, naked and bound to a bed. At the top, the title, _Screw the Roses, Send Me the Thorns_ was written in script, and beneath that, _The Romance and Sexual Sorcery of Sadomasochism_.

Molly rummaged in her bag and pulled out her mobile. Her fingers flew over the keys as she texted the _full_ title (Sally’s note had only included the first half) and authors’ names to Sally, adding:

 _Is this the right book?_

She chewed her bottom lip and looked around nervously as she waited for the response. After a few long moments, her mobile chirped the arrival of a message.

 _Yup, that’s the one. Interested to see what you think of it. ;-)_

Molly stood there staring at the screen, trying to decide what to do. Would it be terribly rude to send her regrets? Make up some excuse to wiggle out of the meeting? No good – she was pants at lying. Sally would be able to call her bluff the very next time Molly saw her. Besides, she had been so looking forward to this book club thing – she worked such odd hours at the morgue that she’d lost touch with her friends from Uni, and was never very good at making new ones. And she really _did_ need to get out of the house more – she was reduced to discussing _Northanger Abbey_ with her cat, for pity’s sake.

That did it. Molly steeled her resolve and marched up to the counter to pay.

***

Molly arrived at Baker Street in time for tea the very next Sunday. Mrs. Hudson greeted her warmly at the door and invited her into a cozy little sitting room in her first floor flat. Sally was already there, along with another woman with long, light brown hair and a pleasant, friendly face.

“This is Sarah,” Sally said, introducing her. “She’s dating the good doctor what lives upstairs with the freak.”

“Now, now,” Mrs. Hudson chided, shooting Sally a disapproving look as she poured out the tea. Sally offered an apologetic shrug and sat down.

Molly offered her hand and Sarah shook it. “Pleased to meet you, Sarah.”

“Likewise,” Sarah replied, smiling warmly.

Molly settled into a prim but comfortable chair next to Sarah, and Mrs. Hudson took a seat next to Sally on the loveseat.

“Tuck in everyone,” Mrs. Hudson said, and started passing around the teacups and filling plates with cucumber, egg and cress, and smoked salmon sandwiches.

They ate, chatted about the weather (“Can you believe this heat?”) and complimented Mrs. Hudson on her delicious comestibles. When they reached a natural lull, Mrs. Hudson put down her teacup and looked at each of them in turn.

“So, what did we all think of the book?” she asked.

There was a brief silence, disturbed only by the sounds of quiet chewing and the clink of spoons on teacups.

“Oh, I’ll start,” Sarah said. “I thought the bondage section was pretty thin – not helpful at all as far as how to do the knots.”

“If you’d like some good rope bondage primers, I’d recommend anything by the Knotty Boys, dear,” Mrs. Hudson offered.

“Yeah, they have some video demonstrations up on YouTube as well,” Sally added.

Molly, not wanting to appear the shrinking violet, piped up with her own observation. “It made me feel a bit odd, what with one of the author’s being named Molly and all,” she said with a nervous giggle.

“Actually, that’s what made me think to invite you,” Sally replied with a wink.

Molly felt the heat of embarrassment creep into her cheeks, and she quickly became fascinated with the tawny liquid inhabiting the inside of her teacup.

“I had an ex named Phillip, once,” Mrs. Hudson said, making reference to the other author. “But he was more of a submissive bottom type.”

“My submissive is a total pain slut,” Sally said. “It’s not even about the sex with him – his wife just won’t hurt him properly. He’s been hinting he’d like to add some variety to his beatings. I’ve got my eye on a nice little braided cat.”

“Oh, you really ought to try bottoming to new toys before trying them out on him,” Mrs. Hudson said. “I’d be happy to help you out with that – I’ve handled everything from tawse to bullwhip.”

“You have enough room to swing a bullwhip here?” Sally asked, looking dubiously around the tidy little sitting room.

“Oh, yes, I have quite a spacious setup in the basement. I’ll take you on a tour later if you like.”

“Yeah, that would be great. Anyway, I’m pretty comfortable with the paddles and canes and such, it’s the single tails and cats I’m actually not so sure about.”

“Have you really ever caned anyone?” Molly asked, surprised.

“’Course not! That would be illegal.” Sally replied, her face stony and unreadable – a particular talent of police officers. “But,” she added as an afterthought, “if any of you lot ever _do_ do that, just make sure you don’t videotape it.”

“Oh, we’re all about being safe, sane, consensual, and within the bounds of our laws here, even if they are puritanical and overly-meddling in private affairs,” Mrs. Hudson said, her mouth curving into a disdainful frown.

Molly quietly sat sipping her tea as a strange miasma of esoteric legal and sexual fetish lingo floated above her head, until the talk gradually turned to personal preferences.

“Oh, I’m a total dominant,” Sally said, emphatically. “I really get off on the psychological aspects of it. And I don’t mind being a service top as well.”

“What a coincidence, dear – me too!” Mrs. Hudson said, patting her arm. “Of course, I started out as a submissive in the scene – that’s just what was expected of women back in those days. My, how times have changed!”

Sally snorted. “Yeah, not as much as you might think.”

“I sort of hate to admit this, but I really enjoy bottoming,” Sarah said with an apologetic little shrug of her shoulders. “Especially impact play. I just…I feel like a bad feminist for admitting this, but I like being submissive as well…to the right Dom, of course.”

“Oh, that’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Mrs. Hudson said. “We can’t really help what pushes our buttons, now can we?” She took a sip of her tea and then turned to Molly. “And what about you, dearie?”

Molly almost choked on her cucumber sandwich. Everyone was staring expectantly at her. She swallowed hard, eyes wide.

“Me? Oh, I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like that before. I’m more of a vanilla girl, I suppose.” She let slip a nervous little laugh. “Though…well…I have beaten a few corpses with various implements for Sherlock before.”

The others continued to stare at her. A devious little smile started to creep onto Sally’s face.

“It was for a case!” Molly blurted.

“Uh huh,” Sally said, nodding her head and smirking in a way that Molly thought meant anything but agreement. “And did you enjoy those little sessions?”

“Of course not!” Molly said, trying to muster her indignation. The truth was, though, she sort of had. “Well,” she continued, a bit hesitant, “I suppose I do like hitting things…sometimes. I don’t know...it can be rather cathartic.”

“Well, it sounds like you could be a top,” Sarah said, smiling at her.

Molly relaxed a little. “Maybe,” she said, smiling back.

She wasn’t quite ready to admit that, as she had been reading, the thought of having a boy of her own at her feet, or bent over the back of a chair, really did things to her. A lanky, dark-haired boy with pale skin, more often than not.

“Actually,” she continued, “I was intrigued by the description of ‘flying’ – I might like to give that a go some time, too.”

“Well, maybe you’re a switch,” Sarah offered.

“Maybe,” Molly said again.

“No need to decide on anything right this moment, dear,” Mrs. Hudson cut in. “There’s plenty of time to try things out – that’s the only way to really get in touch with who you are and what you like.”

“Hear, hear!” Sally said, lifting her tea cup as if giving a toast.

As the afternoon wore on, Molly realized she was having quite a good time, in spite of her initial misgivings. Her nervousness subsided (for the most part), and she found herself opening up about things she could barely have admitted to herself before. Everyone there was just so nice and accepting – she began to hope all of their book club meetings would be like this.

They chatted a bit more until the tea was gone and hardly anything remained of the sandwiches and scones. Mrs. Hudson got up and starting clearing the empty cups and crumb-filled plates off the table and onto a tray. “Would you girls like a tour of the dungeon now?”

Molly blinked. “Dungeon?”

“Did I say dungeon? I meant basement, of course,” Mrs. Hudson smiled demurely.

The three younger women followed Mrs. Hudson down a narrow flight of dimply lit steps to the basement, with Molly bringing up the rear.

When they reached the bottom, Mrs. Hudson stepped forward a few paces and flipped a light switch. Darkness receded into the corners of the stone walls, revealing a room like none Molly had ever seen before. There was a cage with iron bars in one corner, and in another, an uncomfortable-looking, tall-backed wooden chair with leather restraints for wrists and ankles. Assorted gags, hoods, and blindfolds were neatly organized on top of a heavy chest of drawers. On the far wall, a large, wooden X was mounted – a St. Andrew’s cross, Molly remembered from her reading.

“Right, who wants the first ride on the spanking horse?” Mrs. Hudson called out in a sing-song voice.

“Oooh, me!” Sarah eagerly volunteered, unbuttoning her blouse and then dropping and stepping out of her skirt. Mrs. Hudson discussed hard limits and safe words with her, and then lashed her to the wooden structure with practiced skill. Sally examined the various floggers, whips and paddles hanging on hooks along one wall, while Molly just stood in the middle of the room, trying to take it all in.

“Right,” Mrs. Hudson said, stepping back to admire her own handiwork. “All trussed up like the dirty little slut you are. What shall we begin our session with, then?”

Sally stopped her perusal of Mrs. Hudson’s toys and turned to the others with a wicked smile on her face. “Why don’t we let Molly decide?”

“Very well,” Mrs. Hudson replied amiably. “What’s your pleasure, dear?”

Molly thought for a moment and then grinned. “Let’s start with the riding crop.”

****


End file.
